Finally free from the prison Gorosk's relief was immediate. It was an odd thing confinement. The prison conditions themselves had not been truly torturous. Compared to his time in the monastery it had not been all that bad. They had fed him and they had left him alone. No fights, no chores, no sermons. Yet the inability to escape and indeterminate length of his sentence had been unbearable. They were free once more, at least in one sense. He could touch the leaves he had seen through the windows. Gorosk did so. Running his hand along some leaves. Breathing fresh air.

The Justice was gone, only the Priest left now. Only Marthan and the hateful militiamen. Only them, and whatever it was they were being made to do. Wherever they were going to be made to go. The chests came out, Gorosk gathered his few belongings, nodding to his fellow prisoners as he did so, and changed in to his own clothes. Mutterings of pools, angry faces, disinterested faces, frightened faces watching the prisoners as they each readied themselves. The militia whispering to each other all the while. Let them whisper. Soon the journey would begin. Gorosk hoped it would at least be interesting, interesting and far far from this prison. The sooner they were rid of this place the better. Finally a voice spoke up, uncertain perhaps but clear.

"Forgive me, not all of your things are here as you can tell, His Honor ordered the men to keep hold of your weapons until we returned to the village. I am sure you can understand his reasoning."

"You took my stick and my axe, Priest" he said, fidgeting with the clothing he'd worn since his days in the monastery so it would sit right. Soft, flowing, loose in the right places. He pulled from his pack several other pieces of cloth, tying a scarf over his head and wrapping two red and beige strips of cloth around his wrists and hands.

"You did not take my weapons."

Tracan stepped from her cell, having been silent from the others yet still knowing her service, her long black hair maintaining its straight form as she looked up. She had done nothing wrong, and she had explained her case truthfully, but it seems from what she had overheard, that she would be under someone's charge. Only used to being either alone or under Sanaar, she could not say what it would be like serving under someone. After all, her only basis of such a charge would be long ago when she was but a mere child under her parents, times she preferred not to think about. However, she hoped that it would not be anything like the emotionless killing that had been expected of her before.

Following the others, her eyes finally viewed the people with whom she would be traveling with, as well as assigning voices to forms. Tracan’s eyes flickered over the giant woman then to the two humans and finally to the form of what she would assume to be a half-breed of some form, guessing that most orcs would have been killed on sight. They were a very motley band it would seem, following them out into the bright light of day to which she had to close her eyes until they could readjust to the light that she had been deprived from. However, her moment of slight blindness would be met with a backpack being dropped to her feet, her backpack.

The elf squatted down to investigate it, making sure that everything was where it should be and that nothing of value had been taken. Though nothing was taken, she was most relieved to find that her cloak was unsullied by the touch of the rogue militia. A smile came to her face as she swung the bronze cloak over the leather armor that clung to her form, finally being reunited with a memory of Sanaar before she heard the voice of the Gorosk.

Her response came quickly, and without emotion, “But you don’t have any weapons on you.” The meaning of the monk’s words had gone over her head.

Vah'lux turned to see an unfamiliar figure going through a tattered bag full of equipment, their frame thin and lean, much more than that of a human. Angular facial features that hinted…no, it was clear by knife-like ears partially hidden by unkempt hair. An elf? Were they imprisoned as well? The Goliath couldn't recall a fifth prisoner, but that didn't mean one did not exist, as the stranger's race was known for their stealth and silence when it was most needed.

The pseudo-giant continued fastening the leather straps, laces, and belts that kept her toughed hide armor secured to her body, making sure the cloth underwraps were flattened as to not cause discomfort while worn. The armor itself had not been with her for long, as it was created during the long journey from Thraduum, so even some adjustments were having to be continually made in order for the materials to form to her muscular physique. In anycase, it served its purpose.

Gathering the remaining rations and few items that were on her person upon arrest, she stored them in the leather and fur rucksack and slung it over her shoulder before walking over to where the feral-looking Elf had been.

"How are you on food supply?" Vah'lux asked, her voice a bit more husky than usual from very little conversation while incarcerated.

Deleted

---

The moment he stepped foot outside, Renault shot a hand over his eyes, nearly overtaken by blindness as the fresh beams of the morning sun hit his gaze. By the gods, how the days spent in dark confinement had ruined his eyesight. But his initial discomfort lasted only seconds before turning to sudden relief. Renault did not fall to his knees or let his fingers run across the leaves as Gorosk did. Rather, there was a visible relaxing in his shoulders, as though a great weight had been lifted. He let out a deep exhale, taking in the first breath of fresh air he had in days.

Now in plain view, all around could see just how ragged Renault had become during his imprisonment. His countenance, already-untidy when the militia first found him, had fallen further into neglect. His face and hair were tinted brown with dirt-and-grime, highlighting every crag and wrinkle; and it was clear he was in desperate need of a shave and haircut.

With chests emptied before them, Renault quickly set upon his confiscated possessions, fishing through his pack and traveling gear in search of that glint of silver. Seeing it out of the corner of his eye, Renault wrapped his callused fingers around the pendant, drawing it close to his chest. The cool metal soon turned warm in his grip; warm enough that a superstitious man might have placed significance on it.

With a fresh set of modest clothing in his pack that felt to Renult like the finest silk, he made a mental note to change at the first possible opportunity...and perhaps wash up while he was at it.

Clasping the pendant around his neck and hiding it beneath the collar of his worn tunic - a habit born out of shame - Renault ensured all his armor and other belongings were properly accounted for before hoisting the pack over one shoulder. He'd armor up once he was changed and had access to proper smallclothes. Still feeling somewhat vulnerable without access to his weapons, Renault assured himself that all would be returned to him in time. Reaching for his flask, Renault groaned, though not surprisingly, that its contents were empty and bone-dry. When imprisoned, Renault had resigned himself to their shared fate of stale black bread and lukewarm water. But now that they were free, with all the possibilities that came with it, the lust for wine returned.

As he caught sight of a mysterious fifth prisoner, an elf to boot, Renault shifted uncertainly from one leg to another. Elves were a rare sight; rare enough that some may go their entire lives without laying eyes on one, in Andallia especially. The Elf, however, was not standoffish, engaging Gorosk in conversation before being approached by Vah'lux.

It was only sensible: the five of them were to be together for the foreseeable future, expected to share food, camp, and come to each other's aid when necessary. Trust was a commodity, and one they all had to dispense to each other.

Gorosk was surprised to see another poor soul had been with them. He must have fallen into a deep sleep at some point, to have not noticed another fellow prisoner. The Elf must have kept quite still indeed. Still they were all the better for her presence. None of them seemed likely to head off on their own, to abandon whatever this task might turn out to be. At least not yet. Another body would help. The Elf would bring further diversity to their little band. He guffawed a bit and was unable to restrain a grin when his remark about his weapons went over her head.

“But you don’t have any weapons on you.” She had said.

Gorosk held his hands up before his face, clenched them slowly and tightly into first blades and then fists (knuckles cracking as he did so), and then flexed and stretched them against each other.

"These are my weapons Elf. I am Gorosk. A Half-Orc Monk of Aeridun. What is your name?"

The idle conversation made among the five freemen, or as free as they would be for some time, filled the remainder of the travel to the village. They were accompanied by the priest at their side as the followed the so faintly worn earthen patch back down from the hill they had all been entrapped in; a few of the guardsmen were close behind them, the cart not far behind, and the rest even further back. They were poorly disciplined, to be expected of peasant soldiers - combatants in name only - and bantered between one another the entire brief journey, even as the entourage plodded through the outskirts of the village.

An occasional head peaked up from over the low stone walls that divided their farms, many others remained at work, turning the earth in dusted paths led by oxen or at best, horses. The air filled with the smell of the season to come, that the melt and runoff of winter here had kept the soil moist, and that the seeds being sown within the fresh ground would bring the promise of harvest to these people. But those same people were clearly wary of them and rightfully so - an orc, an elf, and a giant? Coming back from the prison? It went without question that had heard, if not seen the justice ride by only an hour's time at most ago. It bode well for the prisoners yet not for the town in that sense, that these obviously dangerous outsiders had been spared. Some spoke to one another, a man leaning to his wife and cupping his hand over her ear, while others just looked on until they were far enough away from their gawking to only be a memory.

For an elf of the woods east, this village was maybe all too discomforting as she drew nearer still to it, the same story likely told for the goliath who towered without lumbering over all the rest of them. It was quaint and humble enough but this place was among a clearing in the wilderness that had been expanded time and time again, and for Tracan, these people were they all too much closer to her peoples' ancestral lands, would have been marked for death. Even her exile could not hide that from her mind, knowing that likely by pure luck this entire place avoided a raid. For Vah'lux, however, the story was different in her own connection to nature, not as elf or elf-kin, or any beast of the wood, but these people were most removed from her. Aside from the stones that they built the foundations of their huts and buildings upon, everything was so refined, so distant so... removed from a sense of ownership and homeliness. They had burning hearths that kept smoke flowing from their crude chimneys yet even they seemed all too reminiscent of the orcs she languished in soul under for their amusement. They took from this land, the earth itself, and did what they willed, not even part of it. For the last three of them, the three men, the village itself was the closest they had been to civilization in weeks and months. Homely and familiar, although for Gorosk, little outside an isolated monastery was home although it was thankful this place was familiar enough that it made the prison less overwhelming in thought.

By the time de Bray and Beaumont set their boots into the mud of the road leading into and through the outcropping of civilization, the priest spoke up. He addressed them all as if there was not an entourage of soldiers following them, which only stood to reason as these two groups appeared removed from one another in everything short of circumstance. Redden cats are good cats.

"I am not sure if you know where you are but this is the village of Reddenbarrow."

The name only meant anything to the former horseman and the accompanying paladin, who both recollected enough that this was near the furthest extent of Dorrathar. There were a few scattered plots beyond this, collections not big enough to even manage a village, and the nearest garrisoned keep many days away by foot. For the remainder of them this was a foreign place, as foreign as it came at that, as aside from the few buildings that made up the heart of this place, there was not much else with only one prominent, clearly permanent stone structure; the temple, one not particularly lavish at that, barely ornate enough to bear such a name. Were it not for its humbled stone-craft symbol erected over its doors, that of Erithar, it would be a wonder to who it belonged to.

What stood out more to the keen eyed among them were the tracks of a man and a horse, having delayed here, then having traveled on west and away. Presumably the justice made this his only other stop before he departed, leaving them to the authority of the young, narrow faced man who followed the patron god of this place. Who, as the militiamen dispersed, some heading off down another path and the cart with its occupants stopping at one of the buildings, climbed the few steps and out of the churned ground. Producing a wrought iron key, he unlocked the door to the temple and offered them into it; a place clearly with little more than a few thick pieces of golden stained glass and far thicker stone walls.

"Please, do come inside, I will provide you your remaining compliment. After, well... I guess I should decide what would be a worthy trial for you all on your path to repentance in the eyes of the Marches." Marthan said, pocketing the key into a pouch on his belt, likely the same that held his spell components given the man had worked magic not all that much earlier.

"Do not mind your soiled boots, I will clean the temple when I send you all away. If you need time for prayer and offerings at the altar, feel no need to explain in the mean time. I will await you being finished."

@BangoSkank@Hellion@Lauder@Lord Wyron@TyrannosaursRex

---

Reddenbarrow. The village, quaint and unassuming as it was, held the distinction of being the last bastion that separated mankind's handiwork from the Marches and the dread wilderness beyond. Few had dared try and civilize the lands past this point, and those that did lacked the ability or resources to cultivate anything grander than a few thatched buildings. In a twist of irony, the area past the outskirts of Reddenbarrow seemed almost peaceful, at least to the unassuming eye. But there was something, something past Renault's own eyes that gave the Marches its grim reputation, embellished or otherwise. For a time simply staring out, Renault bitterly noted how being sent out here was all-but-equal to condemning them to the headsman's axe; and arguably a crueler fate than that.

Brought out of his momentary reverie as the priest spoke again, Renault brought his gaze to the younger man as well as the stone building beside, bearing Erithar's standard above the door. Feeling the weight of his pendant almost pull on him with a throbbing that instinctively drew his hand towards the crest separated by the moth-eaten folds of his clothing, Renault took one step, wary and uncertain, closer. As the priest - Marthan - unlocked and opened the door, inviting them in, Renault's movements turned timid, cautious; as if he were in the presence of a serpent in the tall grass.

Treading closer to the threshold that separated the mortal from the divine, Renault dragged his fingers along the frame and the unfaltering stone, his heart pounding in his ears. He hadn't stepped foot in a temple since his exile, better for everyone that way. Renault stopped and looked up to the heavens, perhaps looking for a sign, or even Erithar, Himself looking back at him.

Seeing no such sign, and left with only his own discernment, Renault crossed the border into the temple.

Tracan had exchanged little words on the ride, merely answering questions of her name and nothing more as she felt anything else would have been unneeded since it was irrelevant information. Though, when they had reached the temple, she merely looked at it with a blank expression since this temple was for that of man and not to her god. The words of the priest lingered in her mind, how they had been vindicated within the eyes of a god but not within the eyes of man. Why should she care about what the eyes of man, destroyers of nature, thought of her? The thoughts caused her to frown as she reluctantly crossed the threshold after the older human, opting to keep her head down as they walked. She knew she had to attempt to keep her mouth shut in such a place as it was not her place to speak there.

The elf heard the words of Marthan, and they only proved to annoy her more as they offered her time to pray and offer to their god. It was enough to make sure that she could not hold her tongue, and her words lashed out with a light coldness, “Not all of us care to worship your god, human. While I understand your offer was of good faith, I guarantee that not all of us are willing to accept the god of someone who made us into practical slaves.”

Her words were harsh, and ill-advised in the eyes of Sanaar, she knew that. However, Tracan was not one known to hold her tongue on matters, especially if she felt as if beliefs of another were being forced upon her unwillingly. It was something that no amount of meditation or calming thoughts could help her with and even the ancient knowledge of Sanaar would have understood that. However, it was something that Marthan would likely not, and Tracan mentally prepared herself to be barrated for her words. It was all she could do when she spoke so irrationally and with such disdain as she did.

Deleted

Gorosk entered the temple quietly. Erithar was not the god he had been raised to revere, Aeridun was yet even there he was taught to revere Aeridun not in a temple or by burning incense or reciting hymns. He had been taught to worship by perfecting himself. A seemingly impossible task for the Half-Orc. So long as their god did not teach them to act counter to Aeridun's will Gorosk had no quarrel with them, or any worshiper.

The Elf seemed less than interested in Erithar. This would be an interesting venture. Whatever their trial was to be it seemed likely to involve these borderlands, perhaps it was good the Elf was among them, perhaps it was good she had not made herself known earlier. Tensions were alive already between himself and the Giant woman. If they had gotten up to discussing the wars between their peoples perhaps they'd be at each other's throats now. That would likely make their "redemption" in the eyes of man more difficult.

"I do not ascribe to this Erithar either, Tracan. I worship Aeridun, but neither is a jealous God. You are, I trust," he said gesturing to Marthan, "free to pray to whatever God you please here so long as your God is a Peaceful one."

Gorosk walked a bit off to the side, cleared a place to sit, then settled in slowing his breath and trying to clear his mind for the journey ahead. Whatever this trial would be it would be an opportunity to develop.

Reddenbarrow.

The name meant nothing to the Goliath, but why would it in a land she knew very little about anyway? Her thoughts had never left the beauty of the snow-capped mountainous regions to the North, land that was peaceful, fertile, and full of more life in a square meter than the entirety of what she had seen thus far.

As she continued the journey further along the path, the judgmental stares could be felt as tension in the air made it thick and toxic. Men, old and young, unsure of just what abomination has been released within their small town. Women, averting their gazes out of shame for laying eyes on such creatures. Children. Vah’lux watched on either side of the road as several were ushered back into their homes or huddled behind a loved one as the Goliath passed by. But it wasn’t hate or disgust in the eyes of a youngling. No. Their minds were yet to be consumed by prejudice of that sort. Rather, it was wonderment and curiosity that kept their stares as to say to themselves, ”There really are others different from us in the world…”

Vah’lux often wondered why she cared about such things though, especially the welfare of a race who cared nothing for her or her people. Even the existence of the Goliath was lost on the younger generations of humanity, as certain aspects of history and culture outside their own simply dwindled to myths or ghost stories. But looking into the far-off faces of the young children shielded by the unknown, caused the pseudo-giant to simply pity them above all.

They will only end up as their blind parents have become. A vicious cycle indeed.

As the group stopped at the mouth of the old temple, Vah'lux couldn't help but wonder how often it was used, and how strong the faith of the people was to have allowed such a building to crumble with time. The comment from the Wild Elf soon after they arrived elicited a simple nod in agreement from the woman. While Vah’lux wasn’t opposed to being housed in a temple meant for a human god, it wasn’t the same, and yet her faith still held as such, that she was confident the deities of the Goliath people would hear her prayers. She followed behind the others, having to duck quite a bit in order to clear the doorway before entering the sanctuary.

Thankfully, there was time given to reflect, and reflect she did, staying near the back away from the others and kneeling to honor and humble herself before Kavaki and Manethak, for allowing her to live yet another day. Her purpose had not yet been revealed as clearly as she had hoped, but it seemed the wheels were in motion.

They weren't going to die. At least not that day.

Shuttering the thick wooden doors behind them with an audible boom as the goliath made her own place for herself removed from the rest, the priest calmly brushed his palms clean of the wood dust that lined his hands upon his humble robes. He smiled softly, genuinely after a the words of the half orc, realizing that at least some of the stranger members of the entourage understood what he had meant. He kept his voice low and as calm as he could manage, attempting to not be too distracting, as he replied to the elf and the other three with her while walking by.

"Erithar is a generous god, he is indeed not jealous, he allows us in his temple to address those other gods who are alike him, even those whose names I myself don't always know." As he turned to keep walking, the priest added, "So you may do as our orc friend has suggested, if you like of course."

Coming to the altar of the temple, he went about taking the as of yet unburned incense with him into a palm. Each sprig gingerly plucked from the metal vessel for it until none remained. It all went with him as he neared one of the two doors, this time the left, and entered into it; the audible creak filling the chamber slightly. It was not long before he returned with each of the humble, smoking plumes moving with him and being replaced into various holders. It was clear here on the frontier of the mortal world that the overt ceremony of everything was eschewed for practicality and meaning. After all, it only made sense that a fair, just, and good deity did not care how one really went about the process of showing submission and thanks, rather that it was honest. Or perhaps it was, truthfully, sadly, that the priest was far too young a man for his role to understand that the divines were not all so well meaning as history had told - it did, or so the story went, play a significant factor in man quite literally chasing their own gods off the Material Plane.

Once this seeming task was finished, time and again the priest appeared in and out of the only other room within the stone temple's confines. The whirl of smoke tracing around him as he did, the air now filled with the scent of clean, sweet ash, he reappeared until a small stack and bundle of arms, each wrapped in a woolen blanket were replaced. For a priest, a man who was not even allowed normally a weapon - not any more than any other peasant - he did handle an all too familiar unreasonably sized glaive well. Not in the sense that he could wield any of these things, but it seemed rather that now back in his element, his temple, he was much more coordinated and less disoriented than he had been at the prison; he wasn't near the shocked man of the cloth reading that all these figures were his responsibility anymore. A reasonable onlooker would have imagined this was thanks to the serenity and calm of this very simple structure, a believer in his power would rather claim this was the power of their god, and to an outsider, it was fairly evident he was simply making a special effort to not disturb any of them during the first real period of rest outside their cells.

@Lauder@BangoSkank

Gorosk breathed in the smoke and found it helped to settle him. The clean sweet scent provided some small comfort and helped him put aside the unpleasantness of his time in that prison. At least for the moment. He opened his eyes and watched as the Priest spoke and brought out the rest of their belongings.

"You seem more in your element now Priest," he commented as he rose slowly from his seated position and went to go unwrap and familiarize himself with his staff and his throwing axe once more.

Gorosk draped the woolen blanket over his shoulders, slid the axe into the folds of his open shirt and slowly moved the quarter staff in fluid arches around his shoulders, head, and waist. Practiced motions that helped him warm up and required controlled movement.

He ended this little exercise holding his staff parallel to the ground and sat down cross legged once more, resting the staff against his thighs calmly taking long deliberate breaths. Every man had their own methods of prayer and worship, this was the way he had been taught.

Countless time passed on her knees against the cool stone of the temple floor, and it seemed the recollection of the day that would never be forgotten continued to haunt her prayer and meditation efforts. Thoughts that inevitably continued to trace back to her encampment, the attack, and the brutal slaying of her family in one fell swoop by the Orc invaders. Each mental vision replayed the same scenarios as though it were a moving picture of sorts with no end. And the human boy, who Vah’lux so foolishly trusted enough that lead to her tribes destruction and captivity. Perhaps it hadn’t been the fault of the Orcs after all, but the Goliath herself, heeding the call of a moral obligation to assist the human in need. It was a heart to serve an outsider that became the worst sin of all in her eyes.

“Kavaki forgive me...”

It was all the woman could muster under her breath as held back tears streamed down darkened and scarred cheeks. It was a prayer that had been repeated time and time again, even as she sat behind the iron bars of her prison in Thraadum for many years; bloodied, beaten, ashamed, and lacking any real hope. But she never once forsook the deities of her people, those who have kept their promises to strengthen the Goliath, and to lift them up above the turmoil once again. However, such promises also took an immense amount of patience and faith, even in the face of adversity.

Vah’lux allowed a deep breath to be released as she rose to her feet, opening her eyes once more to the interior of the temple, glancing at the others as they went about their time alone. The incense permeating throughout facilitated a calm atmosphere, striping away whatever anxieties may have erupted within the Goliath’s mind from the unknown. A smile did manage to form, however, as she noticed what remained of her gear and weapons was placed near the other side of the room, and propped against an adjacent wall due its sheer size, her glaive; it’s blade glistening in the ambient lighting. She promptly walked over to check and gather the three reinforced steel javelins which had been secured with cloth and rope, and a hand axe that she placed into a leather loop along her waist. Her large fingers curled around the glaive once more, and a wave of satisfaction washed over her knowing that this was the very weapon of an Orc who never deserved to live in the first place.

“Thank you.” The towering woman nodded toward the young priest, holding a clenched fist against her chest as a gesture of respect and appreciation.

Deleted

"You seem more in your element now priest."

"Of course, my friend," The priest replied in hushed tone so not to be disruptive, yet with just enough bated breath to emphasize his sincerity that followed, "A prison is a ghastly place, I would rather not spend any time there that I needn't, and I am sure you do not need me to explain the whys to you."

His young eyes scanned the entourage as some did, to his quiet surprise, pray to whomever they gave thanks to. He took them away only to watch the manner in which the orc he had spoken to deftly handled the staff that belonged to him before, without further word or effort or issue, fold himself comfortably upon the floor seated. It was not for some time after that any others approached him, although first the towering giant-woman. She had said whatever prayers she needed offer to who patron or patrons, Marthan could not be sure, and then ably took control of her last few goods that the justice had kept away from them. While the priest understood the rationale, it was almost lamentable for him when he realized their hearts were... decidedly more just than most who dared this formidable lands, but what was done was done. He had no say in the process outside of informing their judge whether they be good, bad, or otherwise in nature, and there was certainly even less an unarmed priest could do about keeping arms about at hand for those who were more noble than others; fortunately this whole lot of them had them to begin with, a crime unto itself but excused in the Marches more often than not.

Seeing that the towering figure handled the tremendous, intimidating, quite clearly orcish weapon before him, it would be a lie if the priest did not expect some part of her to lash out. Pleasantly surprised to see that her tightened fist was some form of gratitude, alongside her words as they came with equally sincere respect and sincerity, all he could do was smile kindly in response. He hadn't any gesture he could think of that would be as meaningful as that and it raised questions he did not wholly understand as a young practitioner of faith. Before he could dwell on it, so too was he thanked by the man who had an outburst at the justice earlier who had begun sharpening his sword in the temple. It was not a practice one would regularly permit short of those ordained to wage war in the name of Erithar but the priest had to exercise some sincere leniency as these people did not know any better. Only one of them seemed to have any clout in that capacity, so he could not fault them, at least not now, but Marthan did make a note to inform them in the future of some general customs of practice to abide by while inside the chambers of the holy.

As all was finally done, their brief time spent in the smokey, perfumed air had, and had enough at that to give their blessings to whoever for more or less sparing their lives this time, or whatever it was they truly prayed about or over, the priest at last spoke up seeing as they had come to increasingly gather. An hour or so of their time was admirable, few of even Reddenbarrow spent time here for that long other than for major holy days, celebrations, or tribute, and so it stoked the excitement of the priest who had in the meantime come up with something for them to begin with. It was by no means much but it was far, far more than what the humble farmers and their wives dared deal with, and not something the militia would risk time on.

"I see you have all done that which you have needed to do." His voice echoed ever so slightly in the towering halls among the basic pillars he stood beside near the pulpit.

"But it is unfortunately time I need ask something of you all to help see you to your freedom. It is that I have a quest for you, a task, and not of particularly light matter, at least not to the people of our village. It is something I believe you all are fit to do given what seems to be your collection of skills and fighting capacity and something our poor militia cannot spend time on from patrolling the farmland and surrounding woodland."

The priest delayed for a moment as he walked away and off into his chamber, returning with a scroll and a scroll case. He neither unfurled its contents nor did anything else with them short of allow them to rest in his hand and place the other to his chest while he spoke up yet again.

"There is a raided stead not far from our village where an attack by thieves and brigands left the ground barren and burned. Erithar be praised by all the thankful those fires did not consume more the crop of the surrounding steads, but the abandoned farm is still of value to us. Unfortunately, the creatures of the wood have moved into the remains and its area..." He paused only to allow the scenario to evolve in their minds, knowing they would quickly begin to understand as he continued, "And have laid claim to the land by their presence. We have those among us in the village who could put the stead back to use yet no means to do so as long as these things remain. So it is you who I need ask and task to clear out these vermin from every inch of the plot."

Motioning with the scroll case, the priest continued after, "I have a map I will lend you for the village and the surrounding countryside for all the Marches. The stead is not far as you will see but you will need travel and becoming lost is, as you know, most dangerous. Please, I beg of you, do not dare into the woodland either, I am sure this will already rouse some of its ire by slaying all manner of invasive creature for a risk we must take to secure future harvests."


@BangoSkank@Hellion@Lauder@Lord Wyron@TyrannosaursRex

---

After stepping in the temple proper, Renault froze in place, as if anticipating that he would catch fire any moment. Feeling exactly the same as he had, Renault let his guard down; moving to inspect the few pews that decorated the temple, gliding his fingers across the old wood. Eyeing the ornate stained-glass windows that helped distinguish the temple's otherwise humble construction. He felt at peace, like he was in familiar territory - though he hadn't visited Reddenbarrow's temple until now.

At Marthan's offer for prayer and offering, Renault smiled softly, a gesture nearly hidden beneath his beard. His smile quickly faded, however, when the Elf responded with venom and spite. Tensed by a flash of anger, Renault's grip on the pew tightened until the wood creaked in muted agony, though he said not a word. Internalizing as much of it as he could, no amount of discipline or stoicism could hide the indignation in Renault's eyes.

Before things could escalate further, it was Gorosk who made move to dispel the Elf's anger by appealing to Erithar's indifference to other gods' worship. Indeed, this was a tenet of His that many within the Order tended to forget, if not ignore outright. Renault had witnessed many supposed heretics flogged, beaten, or even executed for blasphemy. Though never directly participating in such affairs, Renault would often stand guard as an armed-and-armored symbol of the Order's might, shielded by steel and faith. With features obscured beneath a great helm, he was Renault no longer, but an extension of the Order's reach and will.

Swallowing disdain as the all-too-familiar feeling of guilt crept up his throat, Renault's grip loosened along with his anger. Truly, he was in no position to judge, for innocent though he may be in the eyes of Erithar, he was a wayward son, still, unable to find his way home.

As Marthan moved back-and-forth between the temple's antechamber and an unseen second room, his movements and demeanor were more comfortable, controlled. As small as the temple was, there was a closeness Renault could see between it and Marthan. Paired like a husband and wife, intimate and understanding. For men of the cloth, this was their bond.

Renault followed after Gorosk, Vah'lux, and Quentin as Marthan brought their bundled gear to the main room, wrapped in wool blankets for storage and safekeeping. Finding his, he gingerly unfolded the fabric covering, revealing his sword and dagger sheathed beside each other. Lifting the sword up, Renault drew it from its scabbard, his deft movements hinting at familiarity, perhaps even training with the weapon. Glinting in the early light beamed through the temple's windows, the sword was as humble-looking as its wielder, bearing no adornment in either hilt, blade, or sheath. It was a practical weapon, one that wouldn't look out-of-place in the hands of a guardsman or sellsword. His shield and dagger were much of the same; with the former bearing no standard on the front, whether for lord, land, or association.

Returning the blade to its scabbard, Renault made quick work securing both sword and dagger to his belt, feeling greater security and comfort at their return. Joining the others in giving thanks, Renault nodded humbly at Marthan with a smile and a meek "My thanks."

As Marthan left and returned for the last time, bearing scroll-in-case, the matter of their earned redemption came at hand. There was an anxious uncertainty to the vagueness associated "creatures of the wood", stirring in Renault's minds the ghost stories and folktales of the Marches. Whatever these creatures were, be they beasts of the wild or something...worse, it was up to them to cleanse the land.

Pausing for a moment, mouth forming empty shapes as Renault struggled at what to say, the words soon found him, concise and clear. "We will do what we must."

The elf, looked upon her bow with but a mild show of satisfaction, a light smile coming across her face as she took a step towards her secondary weapon. Tracan knelt down and put the bow around her, making sure that the string went across her chest before tucking her dagger into her belt. It felt good to be reunited with her weapons again, allowing her satisfaction to cancel the negative emotions from but a few moments before. She knew it was irrational to have had that outburst, Sanaar knew such a thing and would have disapproved, in fact he could hear his voice snapping at her for such a mistake.

Perhaps it was best to imagine it, after all, Tracan knew that she had to live by his teachings rather than his direct guidance now that he was gone. Her hair fell over her shoulders for a brief moment as she hung her head, only for it to be gently pushed behind her sharp ears. She then looked back up before stepping back to her place, listening Marthan relay his quest to them in how they had to kill these “creatures of the wood”. Her eyes narrowed once more, wanting to spit more venom at the man before she tempered herself by thinking of Sanaar’s words and teaching.

Her rocked back ever slightly as she released a breath, her mind clearing before she spoke, “These creatures have reclaimed what rightfully belonged in nature, I don’t believe that killing them would be the best option. Yet, I will do it only if not to only rid myself of this imprisonment.” Her words, while perhaps unneeded, did present the potential option of getting the creatures of the land by nonviolent means. After all, not all creatures deserved death, especially when it could be avoided, that was what Sanaar believed and she knew that her patron god would have approved. With a sigh, she looked to her feet and began to think of how to best deal with the situation that had been presented to her.

Kill vermin?...

The Goliath listened to the words of the priest, arching an eyebrow at the mention of their task, which seemed more a mockery of their troupe and skillset than anything real. She wanted to speak up as to dismiss such a thing for a joke and inquire of their actual appointed task. One that, perhaps that would challenge their combat prowess instead of make them feel as though they were glorified exterminators of small garden creatures.

Does he not realize the large, muscular woman was trained as a warrior, fending their community from invaders?

Pride set aside, in retrospect, Vah'lux had seen very little combat outside of training, and gladiatorial bloodsport, so perhaps this was exactly the type of beginnings Kavaki had deemed appropriate for redemption.

She simply nodded in acknowledgement to the priest’s words, curious however, as to what said "creatures of the wood" were like. However, what piqued her attention was the very matter-of-fact tone of the Elf and their comment with regard to the welfare of the creatures. There was truth in her words, and while a Goliath did their best to protect those natural wonders that were unable to protect themselves, there was still a task to be completed nevertheless. No one had to like it, but it was what must be done.

"Then a hunt it is." Vah'lux spoke with a confidence of one who knew the hunt all too well, with the massive glaive standing tall and strong, clenched in her hand.